


willows

by hingabee



Category: Metal Gear
Genre: Blood, Child Neglect, Childbirth, Death, Gen, Implied Child Molestation, Implied Incest, Other, a little bit of gorey stuff described in detail, how to set ur dad on fire
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-26
Updated: 2018-01-26
Packaged: 2019-03-09 16:48:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13485687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hingabee/pseuds/hingabee
Summary: It calls himfather, but most of the time he does not even notice.





	willows

When he meets her for the first time she is sitting in a clearing surrounded by willow trees and withering flowers, cutting withies with her pale little hands; quickly and efficient and with a certain grace that reminds him of the way bees collect pollen to carry it back to their hive.

She turns and smiles at him and the dancing shadows of the treetops that sway gently with the light breeze to paint a picture onto her face; framed so delicately with fiery curls; that burns itself into his mind permanently. 

The next day she is there again, sitting on a tiny footstool and weaves a basket while the freshly picked wood dries in the grass next to her beneath the soothing morning sun. 

This time she asks him to help her pull a splinter from her finger that has dug itself beneath the bed of the nail; he carefully holds her wrist while prodding the swollen flesh of her hand, cleans off the pus with an embroidered handkerchief he carries in his shirt's pocket. When they are done she smiles again before standing on her toes to kiss his cheek.

After that they meet day after day between the fading catkins; long past their glory of bloom in the late spring now; and she lets him feel those little hands between his own and all over his body reaching straight into his heart to weave herself around it with laughing eyes and a knowing smile.

On the hottest summer day she announces she is carrying his child and their joy mixes with the sweat and tears and kisses in the dirt beneath the willow trees.

A week later; the night of summer solstice; he takes her as his wife and the people of his village are overjoyed that their son has brought such a beautiful and lovely girl back home; the smell of flowers is sickly sweet and the plentiful drink makes their faces flush as they dance into the next morning until he carries her home, where she kisses his forehead; promises him her neverending love just as he does promise in return; before falling asleep in his arms; her hair tickling his nose in the sweetest way. 

Even with her belly huge underneath her apron, heavy breasts resting upon the curve of her body; ready to nurse the life growing inside of her; she does not rest and keeps weaving her baskets and welcomes him home warmly every night when he returns from his work on the field. 

The winter lacks the harsh cold and brings flood and illness but she keeps her smile; unwavering still, when he finds her numb and shivering in bed one night to watch her lips twitch into that familiar expression that only fades when she screams in pain and fear as her water breaks and the contractions of her abdominal muscles become unbearable.

He waits for hours and listens to her shout and cry until the noise eventually ebbs down to a sad little whimper before cutting off completly.

The midwife shakes her head at him and he pushes her out of the door in his disbelief as he walks up beside the bed where his wife is laid out on the mattress in all her glory; blood and afterbirth on the sheets between her legs; that peaceful smile on her face present even in death. 

There are no tears he can shed, he can only hold her stiffening hand and wait for the neighbours to come to his aid as shomerim; when he wont let go of the body they help him tear the fabric of his shirt right next to his heart; to show his grief; and he dully notes that it is the same one he wore the day he walked into the willows for the first time. 

The shomerim recite blessings and prayers and prepare her for burial; its all floats by in a blur but even through the clouded mess of his mind she will not stop smiling at him as she is resting down below the earth; afterwards he walks back to his house in the dark to start mourning for her like he was taught. 

But on his bed sits the midwife and holds a weeping bundle to the chest, tells him, that this thing is his son and all that is left of her; so he should take it into his arms and raise it with the love and care she gave up for the both of them. 

Looking down into the ugly and wrinkled pink face of the thing he lets go a sigh of relief because it looks nothing like her; its bald and deformed head so heavy as it leans against his shoulder; nothing like the graceful way she held her chin up high to laugh and smile at him.

He leaves the child in the care of a wet nurse while he works hard on the field to feed the village; and when spring arrives and he finds himself surrounded by willow trees more often than not. 

In the evenings he spends his time drinking and is tied to his chair; to the house he can not leave, because there is a crying, disgusting thing waiting in its crib to be cleaned and fed and slowly those nights where he goes to sleep with a pillow and sheets pressed against the side of his head to avoid the terrible wailing become more and more. 

In the mornings the nurse just shakes her head and watches him leave for work with a sad look in her eyes as she frees the child from its own feces and vomit. 

After a while it becomes harder to ignore though; there is not just the noise anymore; but now it crawls and babbles and eventually starts walking; stares up at him with those watery grey eyes that start to look more and more like herbeautiful clear ones. The wrinkled skin on its head has become soft and smooth and there are lively curls of flame-red hair sprouting; falling into the childs face as it laughs; her dimples and freckles spreading across it like rainfall. 

It calls him _father_ , but most of the time he does not even notice until it starts pulling at him; or yells or screams and he shuts it down with a voice he has not ever heard himself speak with before. 

Eventually, though, he decides it does not belong to him; there is someone else; dark and twisted; living inside of him who claims to be its father; and he fears that person like he has feared his own; watching with the wide eyes of a little boy as the child is crying; curled into a ball on the wooden floor to his feet.

He gets sick one day; his joints dont work right says a man at the tavern and sells him expensive medicine; but it does not get better and eventually even just the short way to work becomes too much. 

The child has to walk for him now; go out and beg at the market, get the neighbour to help fix the house, steal the cheap vodka the farmer down the hill sells behind the barn... .

It does so without complaints; even if they are poor and it has no toys, no food or even its own bed to sleep in; the child does as it is told and sometimes even dares to look him in the eye to search for its father afterwards.

He does not know where its father went though; maybe he is buried beneath the earth next to his wife; maybe he ran away one day and never came back, like his own father did so long ago. 

But it really does not matter when suddenly she walks in; all red hair and bright smile; calls out for him in joy and there he is crawling out of bed much faster than he has managed to move in all of the past year. He wants to kiss her and love her and touch her, tell her about the terrible cursed parasite that lives with and within him; a child; a monster; with a stolen face; _her_ face; and a borrowed smile that sealed his love away in the ground. Made him sick and planted that tainted seed in his mind that makes him want to send the child deep into the woods to have it get lost and disappear; freeze to death in the cold of winter for its body to be picked apart by the birds and worms when the sun of spring uncovers the rotten remains. 

But oh! how can he have these dark thoughts when she is standing in front of him? He reaches out for her because the hunger of his starving heart and body is too overwhelming and he needs to caress and feel her flesh around and inside of him before it is too late. 

She looks at him in shock and stumbles backwards; falls over one of those damn baskets the child puts down everywhere; and raises her hands as to protect herself from nearing danger. 

Alarmed, he turns around to defend them from whatever secret intruder may be threatening them, but when there is nothing but the empty room left, he finds the child sitting in her place on the cold ground; staring at him with her fearful eyes; beautiful smile stretched into a grotesque grimace of fear. 

It calls for its father and the faithful parasite answers with his boiling blood and an unbearable heat. 

**Author's Note:**

> this is literally just a little thing i had to get out of my system for mantis backstory bc dudes so fucked up abt his dad i just had to write smth abt them :'>  
> also this is kinda inspired by hectocotyles works so check them out too!!!


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